


On the Other Side of Despair: An Interlude

by iluxia



Series: Windcity Saga [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-17
Updated: 2008-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluxia/pseuds/iluxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two-shot interlude, complete. "Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell." Life returned but love stolen, Ryoma struggles to find a reason for living in the aftermath - a world devoid of Tezuka. Sequel to "The City of the Wind", prequel to "A Song of Storm and Fire".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

“When you’re dreaming with a broken heart,  
The waking up is the hardest part…”  
— _Dreaming with a Broken Heart_ , John Mayer

 

~

 

_They say those who lose dreams are lost. Those who, during sleep, fail to see with their mind’s eyes risk disillusionment and insanity in the hands of the darkness of a dreamless night. I have yet to see proof to this theory, but I am inclined to agree that it speaks of a truth.  
  
I suspect I have yet to spend a dreamless night in my lifetime, for if in the past I have, then I believe with conviction I would no longer be among the living. Even bound within the choking pitch black darkness, I dreamt. I dreamt of a brilliant white castle framed against a shining sky. I dreamt of a colorful garden with a hedgerow maze not even the best of navigators would be able to escape. I dreamt of faces, names, voices. I dreamt of love, of anger, of laughter. I dreamt, because only within my dreams was I free. I dreamt, for within the darkness, only these dreams were pleasant enough to be my reality. The world, after all, is only what we make of it. Reality is an illusion we create for ourselves.  
  
I wonder, love, if you too, within your own binding darkness, dream.   
  
Do you dream vivid dreams of color and clarity? Or do you dream in blurs of incomprehensible images with which your mind creates a collage of reality? Do you dream of things to come, like loyal Yuushi does? Or do you dream of things that have passed, like caring Keigo?  
  
Do you dream of us at all? Do you dream of me, of our long past nights under moonlight? The stars dim in their waiting for you, love. Hurry and wake, for I too, like the stars, want once more to hear your warm voice. The magic speaks to me in my dreams — at times, it speaks too low and too fast for me to comprehend. But when I do catch small words, I find that it mourns for us, love. And it waits for you. As I wait for you.  
  
— E. Ryoma (16th of the second moon, 46th of Selene)_

 

~

 

“That is quite a pile of reading material you are leaving your mage,” remarked Keigo, eye passing over three bound parchment journals stacked atop each other. Beside was a new journal, open to a page that was partly filled with Ryoma’s neat script. An exhausted ink well and a battered eagle-feather quill lay haphazardly an easy hand’s reach away. “Are you certain he will be able to read all of this?”  
  
“’Mitsu’s an avid reader,” Ryoma murmured. “He will barrel through it in a night’s sitting.”  
  
The boy was seated beside the bed, book in hand. As always, he was a silent sentinel of the room, a hazy wraith haunting the peacefully sleeping mage’s bedside. Days were spent within his and the mage’s adjoined quarters within the castle. It was not much of a difference from the West quarter, except Ryoma did miss the cherry blossoms, the hedgerow maze, and the fireflies within his old garden. But oh, they were meaningless, all meaningless without his beloved mage.  
  
“Have you yet supped, Ryoma?”  
  
It was a pointless question.  
  
“You know I always sup with you, Keigo. And you all but force feed me every single time.” With a suffering sigh, Ryoma marked his page and placed the book upon the bedside table. He stood from his chair, heavier winter robes warming his frame. The hearth was warmly lit, but the winter’s chill would not be deterred by such measly fire – Keigo just about refused to let Ryoma wear anything less than two or three layers of clothing for protection.  
  
The table in the adjoined parlor was already prepared when they arrived, maids ready to serve them their dinner for the night. It was by now a well-established routine. Unless somebody made sure that he ate proper meals at the proper times with the proper frequency and proper amount, Ryoma would starve himself. There were no other priorities within the boy’s mind but the mage. It was an unhealthy obsession — disturbingly akin to addiction. To Ryoma, Tezuka was almost entirely synonymous to a drug.   
  
They were almost halfway through supper when the conversation sparked once more. Recently it was gradually getting more and more difficult to engage Ryoma in such things, absorbed within his own world as he was.   
  
“Will you accompany Uncle and Aunt to visit the West quarter and see the renovations tomorrow, Ryoma?” Keigo’s tone was expectant, if only slightly desperate.  
  
Ryoma, however, kept his head bowed, focusing on his food. He ate slowly and deliberately. It was as if life itself was a chore with the way the boy acted out every single day. “I think I shall stay here.” His eyes flashed towards the door that led to Tezuka’s resting chambers.  
  
Keigo pursed his lips, hands still over his half-finished plate. There were only the two of them inside the parlor, but the air felt heavy. It suddenly felt far too crowded inside the room. “You need to let yourself some fresh air, Ryoma. It’s unhealthy for you to be cooped up here for so long.”  
  
“I lived through the years in West quarter,” the boy retorted silently, shoulders tensed. Though this conversation was one they’d already exhausted, it kept coming back, as tenacious as a fixed rock, as if saying that until the issue was solved, there would be no moving forward. There seemed to be no sidetracks either, for both of them.  
  
“If that is what you call living,” Keigo sniffed. He gently relinquished his knife and fork and sought to meet Ryoma’s eyes. “I am not, by any means, going to take you away from Tezuka. I only want you to stop tormenting yourself and mind your health — if only for the _child_ , Ryoma.”  
  
 _The child._  
  
A gentle clink of the knife against finest china broke the oppressing silence as Ryoma’s hand gently descended and hovered upon his own belly. Never touching. Only simply hovering, near yet far, gently, gently, gently. The gesture spoke volumes — apprehension, anxiousness, anger, affection, and love, oh love, overflowing love! But uncertainty was there, and it hung as an awkward dark cloud, blocking out the brilliant sun.  
  
“I understand the pregnancy is quite surreal to you at the moment.” Keigo’s tone was now gentle, almost afraid. Ryoma could be the most sensitive person on the face of the earth on certain issues, as he could be the most thick-skinned, indifferent little brat on others. “But it is reality, Ryoma, and soon enough you will have no other choice left but to simply accept it.”  
  
He did not seem to be piercing through the mist, however. Ryoma’s haze remained.  
  
“If you keep on neglecting your wellbeing, what would Tezuka say?”  
  
The fork clattered against the plate. Ryoma stood. “I wouldn’t know, would I?” he laughed jarringly, hysteria edging his fraught voice. “I wouldn’t know, since Tezuka isn’t here, awake, to tell me!”  
  
Recognizing that he might have pushed Ryoma to the edge, Keigo stood and faced the boy. The edge might be good, he told himself. The edge might finally rip through the mist. “I’d wager he’d be disappointed. Disappointed and angry, Ryoma. If he truly loves you, then he would care for you the exact same way you care for him. He would want you to take care of yourself, and he would hate himself if your wellbeing was in any way sacrificed for his. Do you want that?”  
  
Pushing away from the table, Ryoma made towards the door, but Keigo caught his arm and pulled him back if a tad bit too harshly.  
  
“Don’t run away, Ryoma.”  
  
“You wouldn’t _know_!” Ryoma’s arm gave a sharp jerking motion, ripping itself from Keigo’s firm grip. Bruises were already forming upon the pale porcelain skin, but Keigo’s eyes could not afford to linger on those — not when hot, angry tears were streaming down Ryoma’s pained face. “You wouldn’t _know_ , Keigo! What would you know?! You never knew him! You never knew — the words he said, the way he spoke, the things he did — for me — you wouldn’t _know_ — you weren’t there! And yet how c-could you s-say —”  
  
“Ryoma.” Keigo gently grabbed Ryoma’s shoulders as the boy broke down into incoherent sobs. “I would know, Ryoma, even if I didn’t know him. Even if I wasn’t there.”  
  
Wild golden eyes stared up at Keigo with resentment and thinly veiled bewilderment. Keigo gave him a small, sad smile.  
  
“I would know, because I feel the same way he does, Ryoma. Even now.” Keigo pressed a kiss on top of Ryoma’s brow, a gesture communicating comfort. “I love you, Ryoma. I love you, like he loves you, like you love him.” He took the trembling boy into his arms. “And if it was me in his position, I would certainly be angry. At both of us. At myself more than at you. I would hate myself for making you have to sacrifice yourself for me.”  
  
“…K-Keigo —”  
  
“I know this is not quite the right situation, Ryoma.” Keigo drew back to evenly look a further confused Ryoma in the eyes. “I know that you love Tezuka, and I accept that. I am your best friend, Ryoma — I will always be here as your best friend. I won’t ask for more than that, if you are not willing to give it.”  
  
Ryoma set his eyes on his childhood friend’s familiar face and looked. Really looked. There, reflected in those eyes, was sincerity. Keigo, in all the years they have been together, never once lied to him. Not once.  
  
“I could have been exactly right for you once, Ryoma, like how Tezuka is exactly right for you now,” Keigo continued. “It would have been effortless for us — comfortable, easy as breathing. If the world had been the way it was supposed to be… if there were no wars and no deceit…”  
  
A shudder racked through Ryoma’s frame as Keigo’s pain washed over his being. He screwed his eyes shut. He could see what Keigo saw, and knew that his friend was right. If the world had been saner, they would have been happy, as they were back then. There would just be the two of them, and all would be fine within their tiny little world. Keigo would be his soul mate in that happy world — would have been his soul mate, if his claim had not been overshadowed by something far stronger, something so strong that it could not exist in a rational world — _Tezuka_.  
  
Was it out there for Keigo, too? Something — someone — to him as Tezuka was to Ryoma?   
  
“Tezuka… he is like a drug for you, Ryoma.” Keigo’s voice was still. Gentle. But still. “You cannot bear to live without him anymore, short as your time together may have been. I was too late. He found you first. But I probably would have been healthier for you. Not a drug. I would have been the air. The sun.”  
  
A strangled half-laugh half-sob escaped Ryoma’s lips. “ _I walk on sun, I stand in sun. I know of nothing other than sun_.”  
  
“Ah, yes,” Keigo sighed. “That silly little poem you wrote when we were little.”  
  
Another shudder overcame Ryoma, and he clutched his arms as a chill ran through his body. It was not fair, how Keigo was left alone while he had Tezuka. It was not fair!  
  
Keigo smoothed Ryoma’s forehead with a thumb and placed a soft kiss upon it. “I can only take care of you if you want to take care of yourself too, Ryoma. Let us not make Tezuka see a sad little wraith when he wakes. You should be on your best everyday. You never know when he might open his eyes.”  
  
He was steered through the door that led to the bedchambers, and soon he was seated on the edge of his bed, which was right beside Tezuka’s, well within an arm’s reach. With comforting words, Keigo relieved his distress. With comforting hands, Keigo tucked him in. And with a soothing voice, he lulled him to sleep.   
  
It all made more sense now, the attentive and almost suffocating way Keigo took care of him. Guarded him, protected him from any harm. Gave him anything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed. Granted his every little wish to the fullest of his abilities. Kept vigil with him whenever he was at his lowest, rejoiced with him whenever he was at his highest. To Keigo, he was always the priority, never to be ignored. To Keigo, he was beloved.  
  
A gentle ache gnawed at his heart.   
  
Once again, Ryoma discovered, he had disappointed himself. Once again, he had unraveled things only far too late. Despite it being his own life, he knew nothing. He was as ignorant as a newborn babe.  
  
 _Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards._  
  
A sad smile stretched upon his sleepy lips. Even in the incoherence of the precipice of sleep, Tezuka was keeping him company through the words of wisdom he had imparted during their short time together.  
  
“Keigo?” he called to the silhouette by the door.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Keigo stilled. “And thank you. For being with me.”  
  
“I will always be with you, Ryoma.”  
  
“…an ever-present annoyance, I know,” the golden-eyed boy chuckled faintly. “I will go tomorrow with father and mother. Would you please tell them to have my favorite for breakfast prepared?”  
  
“Needless question, Ryoma,” Keigo turned to him and said. “Now, sleep.”

 

~

 

“ _Sou, ai ga tasukeru to wa  
Omowanai dakedo kimi no hohoemi  
Kokoro wo iyasu sono kuchibiru ni  
Tachiagaru yuuki wo morau no sa…_

  
I do not believe that love can save everything  
But there is something about your smile  
That eased my heart, and in your lips  
I found the strength to stand up once more…”  
— _River_ , Tatsuya Ishii

 

~

 

Three moons after that fateful night, the Monasteries’ reconstruction finished. Gazing up at the structure, Ryoma was glad that the old style was slated to make way for the newer, more open and airy architecture. At long last they heeded his advice — it would be of no help to hinder the earth magic by using Bloodlust Stone. It was profoundly better this way — fully transparent. Not only would it bolster the magic, it would also better the thoroughly butchered reputation of the Monasteries.   
  
The building was a huge pentagon viewed from above, with a tall turret from each corner, five in total. There were wide arching passageways, windows made of glass to let sunlight in, and a wide courtyard for physical training in between the five turrets. The library was of a separate building, an offshoot from the Monasteries’ main partition.  
  
The entire curriculum of the Monasteries was to be changed as well. He gave a suffering sigh. No doubt his father would try to enlist his help once more. Nanjiroh had, after much persuasion (and doubtless, underhanded bribery), accepted Yuushi and Keigo’s proposal and agreed to oversee the Monasteries — Ryoma had a sinking feeling that Yuushi had a huge hand in the entire arrangement, and manipulated the factors to favor his own interests. Quite unbelievable it was how the young man managed to commit fraud and deceit at every single turn and avoid getting caught so deftly — if he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes, Ryoma would not believe it was even possible to fool the Echizen Nanjiroh.   
  
Whenever he would ask Yuushi where he learned the deceptive art of deception he was such a proficient master of, Yuushi would merely give him a smile. Now, he had nothing against smiles – only, Yuushi’s smile was not exactly the commonly known smile, but somewhere closer along the lines of Fuji’s smiles. It was one of those smiles that raised goosebumps and urged your self-preservation instincts into overdrive. He had to wonder if, perchance, Yuushi and Fuji were acquaintances, or even blood relations. Certainly the Fuji clan was old enough to have old ties to the Inner Royal Court families. It would not surprise Ryoma at all if it turned out to be such.  
  
Meandering across the wide courtyard, his cheeks stung against the bitter winter cold. His belly was getting heavier by the day, and it was gradually getting harder to move around. The dense winter robes, however, hid the bloating sufficiently enough to avoid unwanted attention. That he was pregnant was not unknown to the Court and the Monasteries, but that did not mean he wanted the extraneous attention. He was thankful that for the four remaining moons (for magical pregnancies like his progressed much faster and took less time than the norm), he would have to stay within the royal premises — the castle, the West quarter, and the Monasteries if need be (he was simply glad it no longer stank of the same bloodstench it did before it was renovated) — simply to ensure his safety. As long as he was within walls, there were no foreign eyes to disrespectfully stare at him. (At least, none would dare, for fear of their eyes being gouged quite painfully from their sockets. He had been quite vocal about his aversion to crowding and attention.)  
  
“…no, no, you’re doing it WRONG!” screeched a shrill voice.  
  
Ryoma winced, his left ear ringing despite his distance. His eyes spotted several forms — a number of mages and a handful of knights — standing at the center of the courtyard, huddled over a statue. He edged closer. The statue, he saw, came up to one of the mages’ waist, and held a brilliant crystal which threw colorful rainbows under sunlight. Ryoma recognized it as the new wards’ focal stone.  
  
“If _you’re_ so brilliant, then _you_ do it yourself, Kikumaru,” one of the mages frowningly suggested.  
  
“I’m not good at weaving wards!” whined the mage with the shrill, child-like voice. Bright red hair caught Ryoma’s eyes. “But I can see the magic, and you’re weaving it all wrong! It’s got big holes, like this!” The mage raised his arms and approximated the width of the holes in the newly woven tentative wards. “This is hopeless, hoi. I can’t believe the Senior Mage is making us do this for the practical. We don’t have opportunity to practice!”  
  
One of the other mages placed both hands on the focal stone and tried (in vain) to re-weave the wards and cover its gaping holes.  
  
However, it was not the ward weaving that caught Ryoma’s attention.   
  
He strode forward with a steady gait, a hand upon his belly. “You can see the magic?” he called out to the red-haired mage. One of the red-haired mages. There were two, he realized with a jolt.   
  
The entire clump of friends whirled to face him, more than half startled at his sudden appearance. There were some, he noted with interest, who seemed unperturbed — in fact, he could see faint traces of amusement carefully hidden behind masks of cautiousness.  
  
“Y-Your Royal Highness!” squeaked the shrill one, immediately dropping to a bow. The group messily dropped to their knees, except for two. A bespectacled tall mage gave a clipped but clean bow, while the short brown-haired mage Ryoma recognized as Fuji gave a sweeping, proper bow.  
  
“It has been a while, Your Highness,” Fuji bid with a smile.  
  
Ryoma nodded. “Our last parting circumstances were… not as comely, but I am heartened to know that you are unharmed. It would kill ‘Mitsu if one of his friends were injured or lost to the battle.” An icy glint came to Ryoma’s eyes. “Did you ever see the end of the traitor?”  
  
“Sadly, no, Your Highness.” There was a hard edge to Fuji’s usual smile that Ryoma’s sharp eyes could not miss. “Before the duel was finished, the tower collapsed, and in the confusion we lost each other. Purposefully on his side, I would say.”  
  
“I see,” Ryoma sighed. He allowed himself a moment’s pause of disappointment and regret — had he been there, he could have ripped the mongrel to pieces with his own hands — before straightening himself once more. He turned to the shrill redhead, still dropped in a low bow. “You may rise. The rest of you, as well. There is no need to stand on ceremony. Today, I am just another mage.”  
  
The redhead rose slowly, warily. The others followed him after a couple of heartbeats of silence, with the exception of Fuji, who immediately rose from his bow. Ryoma rather liked that about the brown-haired mage – Fuji was pretentious, but he had enough tact to be able to accurately distinguish situations calling for honesty from situations where subterfuge and farce politeness was a necessity. This was of the former, not the latter.  
  
“You said you can see the magic,” Ryoma repeated. “What is your name?”  
  
The redhead nodded. “M-My name is Kikumaru Eiji, Your Highness.”  
  
Ryoma waved a dismissive hand.. “Formalities are not necessary. How long have you been able to see the magic?”  
  
“Err…” The redhead turned to look at one dark-haired clean-cut mage (his haircut rather made him resemble an egg), and then turned back to Ryoma. “For as long as I can remember?”  
  
Tilting his head to the side, Ryoma contemplated the mage’s word. If the words spoke the truth, then this mage was valuable. He held up his hand, palm up, and gathered a sphere of energy atop it. The redhead’s eyes widened, answering Ryoma’s unuttered question. Eiji’s eyes were authentic.  
  
Ryoma ambled forward and gently pushed the sphere of energy into the focal stone, giving it a most ethereal glow. Rainbows danced around the entire courtyard as the earth magic activated the focal stone. Threads of magic, thick as a twig, began to weave an elaborate ward around the entire Monastery. The magic was visible to all, gift of sight or not. People in the courtyard and from inside the First Tower — mages, knights, royalty, courtiers, aristocrats, ordinary noblemen — gasped in awe.  
  
“So _this_ is how Eiji sees the world,” the clean-cut dark-haired mage breathed. He gave Eiji an awed grin. “Amazing!”   
  
Eiji puffed his chest out. “Aren’t I just, aibou?”  
  
“Oishi’s talking about the magic, Eiji. Not you,” Fuji chuckled.  
  
Pouting, Eiji retorted, “Just because you can see it too does not give you permission to be cruel to me! But you are always cruel to me anyway!” He threw himself, mock-weeping, into an exasperated Oishi’s arms.  
  
“Hai, hai.” Oishi gave consoling pats to Eiji and a reproachful gaze to Fuji. “Fuji…”  
  
Donning a smile (a fake one so blatant yet so terrifying no one dared comment on it), Fuji tilted his head in a small bow. “Of course. I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Eiji.”  
  
Before Eiji could retort, one of the knights stepped in, perhaps intentionally to prevent a catfight. “I’m not good with all this magic what-not, but this is awesome! I’d give anything to be able to do something like _this_! But I’m just a knight.” He laughed sheepishly.  
  
“I’d say don’t try, peach-butt,” a sharp-eyed slouching knight hissed. “What’s left of your little brain would fry.”  
  
“Momo! Kaidoh! Mind your manners, and your language!” Oishi reprimanded. “Do I need to remind you who you are facing?” He turned towards Ryoma, who merely gazed up at them blankly. “I am very sorry for their lack of propriety, Your Highness.”  
  
There was a heartbeat of silence as Ryoma leveled his gaze upon Oishi, hand still resting upon the focal stone. Then he turned towards the knight who had spoken first, Momoshiro, without even acknowledging Oishi’s apology, deeming it unnecessary.   
  
He said: “With magic, the wielder’s imagination is the limit. Unlike the sword, magic has no form unless you give it one. Unlike the spear, magic cannot reach unless you make it reach. But unlike any other weapon, magic has endless potential. You can do with it whatever you wish — which is why it is as much of a danger as it is a convenience. One of the integral laws of magic is to never use it for expedience when there are other easily attainable means to do whatever needs to be done. Because, loyal knight, in the hands of a wrongdoer, magic can do terrible things.”  
  
“Magic is what did that to ‘Mitsu, you know.” A pained look came upon Ryoma’s eyes. “Abominable forbidden magic, the darkest and most tainted of earth energy I’ve ever seen.” He gave Eiji a sad look, and said, “Pray you never chance upon a sight as wretched as that. And those of you who cannot see – thank the Earth for not giving you the double-edged sword of sight.”   
  
No one spoke a word.  
  
Then, Ryoma sighed and continued, “It is probably a blessing for you, knight, that you are unable to wield it. At least, by your sword, the world remains rational, and your feet remain firmly on the ground.”  
  
Silence descended upon the small gathered group of friends, until the bespectacled mage adjusted his glasses and said, “Tezuka said a similar thing.”  
  
Ryoma turned to him and smiled faintly. “’Mitsu has taught me a great many things.” He turned back towards the knight. “ _Be without fear in the face of thy enemies. Be brave and upright to honor thy King. Speak the truth, always, even if it leads to thy death. Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong_.” He removed his hand from the focal stone, stepped forward, and placed it upon the knight’s chest. “That is your oath as a knight to the King. You are not an important royal. You are no wise scribe, and certainly no powerful mage. But you are a brave knight, willing to give your life to your liege and to his people. Be proud of what you are, for the bravery you hold is something even I cannot match.”  
  
Turning towards the First Tower, from where familiar figures were approaching, Ryoma removed his hand from the knight’s chest.   
  
“Even if you are not a mage, the Earth protects you, so long as you protect it. Go and serve your King, protect the helpless.” He turned his back on them and faced the approaching. “…and perhaps, when I am the one who is helpless, you will come and protect me too.”  
  
Still as a stone, Momoshiro’s face was a conflicting slate of emotions. There was undeniable awe and the beginnings of a favor for the young prince.  
  
The knight’s moment ended, however, when the King himself barged into the cozy little group, all agitation and worry. It was almost comical how the ever vain King abandoned all unspoken behavior protocol in his concern. (But of course, since he was the King, no one was allowed to laugh.)  
  
“Ryoma!” Keigo exclaimed, stepping forth and grabbing Ryoma’s shoulders. Behind the boy, the mages and the knights dropped to their knees, humbled by their King’s presence — or at the very least, pretending to be, in Fuji’s case. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Why would I not be?” Ryoma raised an eyebrow. “You worry too much, Keigo.”  
  
“And you do not worry enough,” Keigo scolded with a glare. “Aunt Rinko has warned you against excessive use of magic, Ryoma. The child—“  
  
“—is just fine, Keigo,” Ryoma exasperatedly sighed, patting his belly. “In fact, it seems to be enjoying the fluctuation and movement of magic as much as I am.” There was a palpable spike of magic from Ryoma’s belly, as if the child heard, understood, and agreed. “And look. The wards are done.”  
  
“The wards could have been left to the Monastery’s mages. You have already helped a great deal with the recalibration of the Castle’s wards and the reconstruction of the West quarter’s wards.” In truth, Ryoma dealt with both almost single-handedly, with minimal help from a very proud Rinko and a dumbfounded Nanjiroh.  
  
“And let them leave gaping holes in the weaving?” Ryoma said with a derisive snort. “Once is enough, Keigo. I do not want a repeat performance of the traitor’s infiltration. These new wards of mine will rip him into pieces should he decide to come back. And if he comes with reinforcement, well. His blood is enough to sate the Earth, but magic will not say no to additional nutrition.”  
  
The sudden chill in the air surrounding Ryoma was not missed by any.   
  
“And besides,” he shrugged, “the ordinary mages can only use their own magic. We need stronger wards, and human magic cannot sustain stronger wards. I am just about the only one who can call upon and control sufficient earth magic to sustain them. Certainly, the mages can use tools, but no tool can tether raw power.” Ryoma turned to his side. “Except, perhaps, if the tool is used by Fuji here, who seems to have some special gifts he has yet to reveal.”  
  
A wider smile stretched Fuji’s lips. “You flatter me, Your Highness.”  
  
A pause.  
  
“It appears he is unwilling to reveal them at the moment,” Ryoma continued. “As such, I am the only one fit to weave these wards.”  
  
Explanation satisfied, Ryoma gave Keigo a triumphant smile. Behind the King, Yuushi coughed into his hand in a vain attempt to hide what were escaping snickers. Eyebrow ticking dangerously, Keigo pursed his lips.   
  
“This still does not excuse you from a check-up, cheeky little brat. Come. Aunt Rinko will look at you, and we shall see for certain if the child _is_ ‘just fine’.” With an exaggerated roll of his eyes that earned a (poorly stifled) giggle from Eiji, Ryoma followed obediently.

 

~

 

_Today, love, I met your friends. It was but a short meeting, a fleeting crossing of paths. But despite the brevity of the moment, I clearly saw that some of them are still children, caught in the midst of transitioning into adulthood. You must have been an old wise man in their midst, love—forgive the clumsy script, for the very image makes me laugh. They have not gone through the same experiences as you and I – and perhaps that intriguing Fuji as well. (Did I tell you? He has stepped one up into Magistracy, a mere few levels away from Sorcery. You have some catching up to do, I gather.)  
  
Even now, as I prepare for bed, I try to imagine what it would have been like seeing you with them. How did you interact with them? The relationships you formed with them, how did they come to be? Was it like when ours formed? From a chance meeting, slowly, slowly… Will I be able to see you with them once more, love? Will you wake and introduce me to them as your lover? The more I think about it the more my heart aches.  
  
“A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born.” Those were your words. I have much to tell you, much I think about tonight as the moon travels its nightly course through the darkened heavens. When I met with your friends, something within me changed. Well, perhaps it is not a total change. Just a slight tug. They have something I do not have, something I want to have.  
  
…do you think they would accept me as a friend too?  
  
— E. Ryoma (17th of the second moon, 46th of Selene)_


	2. II

“Well, disaster, it strikes on a daily basis  
I’m looking for wisdom in all the wrong places  
But it seems like I’m getting closer somehow  
A flicker of peace I’ve finally found…”  
— _Heroes & Thieves_, Vanessa Carlton

 

~

 

Perhaps he had underestimated how well Keigo knew him. Perhaps, without his noticing, Keigo had somehow managed to read his mind using some sort of forbidden magic the King certainly would use as long as doing so would bring benefit (and being able to read minds, Ryoma knew, is a big benefit, especially for one of such perilous political position). Such wayward thoughts plagued his mind as he gazed out the wide arching windows while savoring his afternoon tea.   
  
The curtains were parted, as per explicit instructions from the young prince, to show the thawing winter frost and the first few buds of spring. Despite the cold outside, however, the castle was comfortably warm. The maids were triple the fervor at work, all intent on giving the best service to the returned prince and the little bundle of blessing soon to come. The entire castle spoiled Ryoma and the yet unborn baby to no end, much to Keigo’s exasperation and Yuushi’s amusement.   
  
This was perhaps part of the reason why the young King partly dreaded the coming of the child. The entire castle would be bursting at the seams with people, who would all want to ‘show their love’ to the new heir of the Echizen clan. Of course, the everyone would be aware that the purpose of giving gifts would be to win the sympathy of the revived clan, but none could say a word of it. It was a masquerade where everyone knew who everybody else was, but feigned ignorance and guilelessly went on with the festivities. The entire thing reeked of politics, and politics was one thing Ryoma and Keigo both dreaded.   
  
When a loud peal of laughter exploded from the adjoined sitting room, Ryoma’s wandering mind crashed violently back into the present. He winced. There were times when Eiji became far too loud.  
  
He took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was Keigo’s idea and not his. The King had, all of a sudden, sent a missive to the Monasteries to call on Tezuka’s friends and ask them to ‘keep Ryoma company’. Truly, Ryoma admitted, he had wanted to meet Tezuka’s friends once again — which was why the King was being suspicious; he’d never really told Keigo about any of his thoughts on them — but never did he wish for such an abrupt, awkward, and painfully blatant meeting!   
  
He ground his teeth. He was going to give Keigo a good and lasting tongue-lashing tonight, if only to get his point across. He was _not_ a toddler, and most definitely did _not_ need to be looked after like a teething babe!  
  
Forcing himself to endure the noise Eiji and Momoshiro were making, he made work on his cooling tea. The group had arrived mid-morning, and were intent on spending the entire day with him. He was in the midst of a breather, having exhausted himself talking and entertaining his guests. His guests, in turn, encouraged the short rest out of respect and for the sake of their prince’s fragile “condition.”  
  
He had learned an awful lot about Tezuka from them, which was the better part of the tiring little gathering Keigo had witlessly pulled together. Talking to them, he found, came naturally. Conversations simply flowed once started, and most of the mix were not as concerned with formalities as most other people would be, which was good — Ryoma never was one for stiff-backed empty conversations. Eiji, in particular, was one boisterous fellow with not a single shy bone in his body. It was all thanks to Oishi that the redhead had yet to shatter a single piece of china with his needless flailing and overenthusiastic conversational gestures.   
  
Fuji was as congenial as ever, but Ryoma was not to be fooled by the mask. The blue-eyed mage hid some special ability he had yet to reveal — Ryoma could sense the huge reservoir of suppressed magic, which was proof enough on top of the fact that the mage was a spawn of the Fuji clan. Ryoma could never tell if the mage was telling half-truths or outright lying or pretending to be lying or omitting and editing; the mask was seamless, and the magic was controlled — far too perfectly to be normal. This much was more than enough to set Ryoma on guard. That level of energy control required incredibly advanced training from an early age – most children never managed to get past the first level of the rigorous menu, except for those who had a natural aptitude for magical mind work.  
  
On the other hand, the bespectacled researcher mage Inui was, in Ryoma’s very honest and humble opinion, as downright creepy as a hairy caterpillar. The entire time he had a parchment journal covered in fire-resistant, waterproof enchanted green leather. Never once did he stop scribbling in it that Ryoma had to wonder if the journal had endless pages. What he was writing was anybody’s guess. But as long as he did nothing visibly and potentially harmful, Ryoma reasoned against his screaming self-preservation instincts and convinced himself (in vain) that the creepiness was negligible.  
  
There was also the quiet and well-mannered Taka, son of the Fuji clan’s main estate’s current head cook, training for the culinary applications of magic. The mage had, very humbly, offered his services for their lunch’s preparation. Because of this, Ryoma did not get much of an opportunity to talk with him, but the meal was more than enough to speak for the young cook. Only once had he ever tasted such good cooking, and that was from the castle’s late head cook, perished during the castle’s siege in defense of the late Queen, Keigo’s mother. Ryoma had half a mind to hire the young cook at once — the desserts were simply heavenly! (On another vein, he would get horrendously fat. That would be horrible. He didn’t think ‘Mitsu would like him that way. Pregnant was one thing; flabby was entirely another.)  
  
The truly curious ones, however, were the two tagalong knights. As the story went, it was Oishi who first encountered the two youngsters locked in a heated and somewhat childish argument. Ever the peacemaker, Oishi got himself trapped between Momoshiro and Kaidoh somewhere down the line. Eiji somehow stumbled upon this trouble, misunderstood, and flew into a rage to “protect his precious aibou.” The fact that it was only Fuji who was accompanying Eiji only made it worse — Fuji would never lift a single finger to dissolve tension; instead, he only added fuel to the fire and intensified the confused skirmish.   
  
A little while later Tezuka and Inui would come, and the natural leader within Tezuka would effectively dissolve the entire situation. It was an awful way to get acquainted with one another, in Ryoma’s opinion, but that was how it came to be.   
  
Soon afterward, the two knights took to staying with the small group of mages, despite the friction between the Monasteries and the Barracks. Momoshiro and Kaidoh were both looked down upon — they were ranked lowest within their batch, according to very reliable data courtesy of Inui. Their acquaintance with much-hated mages did nothing to make things easier for them inside the Barracks. Despite the opposition, however, the two knights kept accompanying their new friends for occasional meals and sabbaticals.   
  
Perhaps, Ryoma thought, the two knights had seen the same warmth he had seen within Tezuka’s small group. And perhaps they too were attracted by it. Ryoma could only speculate; he knew enough not to pry too deep past people’s protective shells.  
  
But what Ryoma truly had difficulty understanding was the reason behind the fact that the two were the lowest within their batch — patrol knights, were they? He frowned. He could sense traces of magic within Kaidoh and Momoshiro — different types, but both quite formidable. He wondered faintly why they were not within the Monasteries instead. Surely the Elders would have sensed the magic still lying dormant within the two – despite their outright corruption and bent principles, they _were_ skilled mages and sorcerers.   
  
“I would think that only those who are strong enough can see it, Your Highness. I believe no one else saw the potential within Momoshiro and Kaidoh.” Fuji walked around Ryoma’s cozy chair and sat himself on the opposite side of the tea table.   
  
Ryoma placed his china upon the table. “Sneaking up on people like that can put you in danger, mage. I might lash out and accidentally skewer you on a pike, as Keigo says.”  
  
“I am quite sure I will be fine.” There was a wide smile upon the mage’s face, as if simply breathing the same air as Ryoma was gave him satisfaction. He continued to explain, “Eiji sees a flicker of something from time to time. Oishi feels it through his intuition, but does not know what to make of it. Inui does not feel anything, but his data does. I see their potential, everyday, every moment. It burns deep within them, but it is tethered – by what, I do not know. Inui wanted to ask them questions and hopefully glean some clues as to what they can do and why their magic is so weak it’s almost invisible – but they do not even know of their potential yet.”   
  
Taking a knight from the already laid out chessboard, Fuji held it up and peered closely at the intricately crafted ivory. “But they will eventually figure it out on their own, and things will go according to the magic’s will. Knights are, after all, very resilient characters. Don’t you think?”  
  
Immaculate sloping fingers gently placed the white knight on a square. Fuji continued, “Momoshiro and Kaidoh are special. Tezuka too knew about their latent magic, and was searching for a way to draw it out. Inui tells me both of them had one parent a mage or a sorcerer, according to old census records. That would be the likeliest source for their power, though why they have yet to surface, I am not sure.”  
  
Without a word, Ryoma reached and moved a black pawn forward, responding to Fuji’s move. He let the mage continue the train of thought.  
  
“I suspect both of them know of it subconsciously. Perhaps, at times, they draw on it subconsciously as well. I can only imagine how much the magic will increase their efficiency. They are already very skilled knights, corrupted ranking system aside.”  
  
“Ah. So the Barracks are also in need of a clean-up?”  
  
“A thorough one, at that,” Fuji said. “The Monasteries have been taken care of. It is now the Barracks’ turn.” With a rook he took a pawn from Ryoma. “We met Momoshiro and Kaidoh back when we were still acolytes. They were still pages, the two of them. They entered the Barracks together and progressed together, never getting ahead of each other.”  
  
“Eternal rivals.”  
  
“Yes, that is an apt description of a significant part of their relationship. In any case, the two of them were pages back then, and they did not look to be moving forward soon. They were — still are — on the same batch as the son of the Mizuki clan, who had wished to graduate as the top ranked knight and be recognized for his ‘heroic deeds’ — though what the term refers to is anybody’s guess. I am sure you can imagine what happened when Momoshiro and Kaidoh tied at the top of the class.”  
  
“I see… well. I am sure I can persuade our gallant King to grace the Barracks with his ever-astounding presence.” Ryoma plucked off one of Fuji’s rooks from the board. “Check. Do you have theories on the reason behind the latency of their magic?”  
  
Fuji deftly moved to avoid Ryoma’s trap. In the adjoining room, Eiji’s delighted squeal echoed as a fresh batch of sweets were delivered.  
  
“Perhaps their parents — the one who wielded magic, never mind how measly — placed a seal upon them for some yet unknown reason. Perhaps there is some sort of imbalance within their cores, which in turn triggers the body to withhold the magic from them in an act of self-preservation,” the mage responded, promptly throwing theories into thin air. “Or perhaps they themselves are subconsciously suppressing it until they find a just reason for its use.”  
  
“A reason.”  
  
“Yes. Similar to how you found a reason to live in Tezuka, and he in you.”  
  
Ryoma peered at the now complicated formation upon the chessboard. “You are a masterful player.”  
  
“Once again, you flatter me, Your Highness.” Fuji gave him the same mysterious smile, the smile that you knew hid something behind it. The heavy game continued with overtones of light bantering over magical theory, rune laws, and rite circles. There was a companionable silence punctuating their conversation here and there. Eiji and Momoshiro were evidently having fun in the adjacent room – the sweets and food were of a never-ending supply.  
  
While deliberating on his next move, Fuji idly commented, “You seem to have spurred a spark within Momoshiro with the words you bestowed him the last time.”  
  
“Have I? That’s…” Ryoma looked up, trailing off in uncertainty.   
  
He did not know what to say.  
  
A wider smile settled upon Fuji’s lips. “I am sure Tezuka would be most glad. He has been trying his hardest to get through to them. He has touched them, but not as profoundly as you have done on Momoshiro. Never as profoundly. The young knight is now utterly devoted to you, and recognizes you as his liege.”  
  
Ryoma was quiet. His eyes, downcast, were confused. He did not understand human relations, not as much as he did magic. He was, for ten years, by himself inside his darkened sealed quarters, devoid of any external contact — he was nothing short of clueless about how to relate to other people, his family and Tezuka aside. Comprehension of the intensity of Momoshiro’s attachment was not easy to come to him, try hard as he might. Loyalty was not a foreign concept, but that did not make it any easier to grasp, especially when he grew to distrust everyone after ten years of darkness as the consequence of deliberate lies and betrayal.  
  
“Eiji is quite attached to you as well,” Fuji chuckled. “He seems to think that since you feed him sweets, the ground you walk on is worthy to be worshipped. And of course, I am as well.” Ryoma looked up at Fuji, brows furrowed. Fuji reached over and smoothed the brows in a gesture so similar to Tezuka’s it made Ryoma blink. “You are quite interesting, and provide ample entertainment to occupy me. It seems that so long as I stay beside you, I shall be guaranteed reprise from boredom. What more can a mage wish for?”  
  
Ryoma’s golden eyes met Fuji’s bright blue ones, before flitting away to settle upon the afternoon winter sky beyond the frosted window.   
  
Real relationships were always far too complicated for Ryoma to bother with. Even when he was a child, he tended to keep away from them. He understood that they brought about a conflict of emotions and a confusion of choices, each with its own consequences. Political relations came as easy as child’s play, because politics within its realm was rather predictable, much similar to a well-played and long-drawn elaborate game of chess. However, he knew not a single thing on how to manage an honest personal relationship with another person.  
  
Then Tezuka came.  
  
Tezuka, his mage, came like gentle candlelight illuminating a patch of darkness. It was a single string, and that single string was the one connection he vowed he would never let be severed. Back then he did not know about Keigo and his parents, and thus believed that Tezuka was the one, the _only_ one, left for him in the world. Tezuka _became_ his world.  
  
Yet, on that night, the precious red string was severed…  
  
“Not completely, no,” Fuji said, voice barely above a whisper, as if to answer his unspoken train of thought. Ryoma turned to the mage in surprise; Fuji could read minds? “The string that connects you to Tezuka is still alive. It can be made stronger once more, but it will take time.”  
  
“Time.” Ryoma expelled a sharp burst of breath. “I do not think I can wait for too long…”  
  
“And yet you will, no? That is how important Tezuka is to you. Even if you should have to walk through hell, you will, so long as it is to get him back.” The mage gave him a gentle, genuine smile — it was a smile that spoke of sincerity, and had no lies lurking underneath. The smile, Ryoma remarked, totally transformed Fuji’s character. With this smile, Fuji was just another kind young man, perhaps a respectable son of a well-off aristocrat.  
  
Fuji reached for Ryoma’s hand and lifted it, taking the pinky finger. He linked his own pinky finger with Ryoma’s.  
  
“A pinky promise?” Ryoma chuckled, raising a skeptical eyebrow.  
  
“No,” Fuji waved his hand over the linked fingers — a thread of shimmering red connecting the two of them materialized. “They say destiny connects you to other people with red-colored threads of fate. They can only be cut when a person on one end dies, and can never be circumvented by any means, physical or magical.”  
  
Ryoma, mesmerized, intently examined the red thread. He had not known that spell!  
  
“Do you know why they say ‘no man is an island’?” Fuji made a wider arc with his arm, a shimmer of potent magic following his fingertips. Ryoma’s eyes widened. “It is because destiny’s red-colored threads are not singular. It is always an intricate web.”  
  
Within the room was a confused tangle of shimmering red threads suspended in midair. Ryoma’s thread connected to Fuji, to the adjoining room where a still energetic Eiji was bouncing away, out the door and to the castle’s lower levels where Keigo was busy at work, to the nearby private chambers where Tezuka peacefully slumbered — it was all too confusing for Ryoma to follow with his eyes.  
  
“All this…?”  
  
“You will never be able to live on your own,” Fuji continued, as if Ryoma had not spoken at all. “You will have to learn how to build on relationships, Ryoma-kun. You search for a reason to live, do you not?”  
  
Head snapping up, Ryoma’s attention was caught. His pinky was still linked with Fuji’s, but it was fraught with a slight tremble.  
  
“You search for a reason to live, something to look forward to in the days that pass while Tezuka is in his deep sleep. If you find none worthy, you deem it ideal to simply wilt away in waiting and leave behind this world for the next, where, perchance, you can be together with your love.”  
  
Cringing, Ryoma closed his eyes. True, such thoughts passed through his mind. But the shiver that crawled across his skin when the words were voiced was incomparable to simply thinking things.  
  
“But Ryoma-kun, you are never only your own property. Your existence is never only your own — never. The reason is right in front of your eyes. That you are not your own is proven by this web. You are also mine, as you are my friend. You are not only your own, but the King’s, for you are his best friend. You are not only your own, but your parents, for they made you into existence. You are not only your own, but Momoshiro’s and Eiji’s, for they have pledged themselves to you, their liege.”  
  
“Throwing away the blessing of life simply because Tezuka is currently not among us is as good as stealing yourself from all the people who hold you important, Ryoma-kun. If you cannot live for yourself, then at the very least, _live for them_.”

 

~

 

“ _Kokoro no senshi watashi wo tsurete  
Shinjitsu e michibiite yo  
Ai wo nakushite samayou yoru wa  
Anata ni tsuite yukitai…_  
  
The warrior within leads me towards the truth  
On the night I lost love I wandered, wanting to walk with you…”  
— _Kokoro no Senshi (The Warrior Within)_ , Angela Aki

 

~

 

“Have you a name for the child, Ryoma?”  
  
It was breakfast; morning was bright. Spring was upon them, and all throughout the Kingdom, sakura blossomed, bidding the frost farewell. The family sat around the table, Keigo at the head.   
  
“Not yet, mother.” Ryoma grimaced. Ordinary mornings within the castle involved a suitable breakfast with the suitable conversation. This was, however, not a conversation he wanted to have at the beginning of what was to be a fine day. Naming was one thing he knew he and Keigo would argue about endlessly, and he was not up to any sort of argument at the moment.  
  
At Ryoma’s nonchalant answer, Rinko exchanged a surprised look with Nanjiroh. “Well, you would do well to decide on one soon! The birth draws near — you do not want to be caught unawares.” It was an ingrained custom within the Kingdom to conduct a naming ceremony promptly after birth, which would seal the name to the child using binding pure earth magic. This gave vital importance to names and their strong ties to the soul. It was, therefore, understood that a rightful name must be decided at least a month before birth.  
  
“Your mother is right, Ryoma,” Nanjiroh nodded. “How about Arata?”  
  
Hands halting over his food, Ryoma turned a flat gaze upon his father. “You want me to name my child ‘ _fresh_ ’.”  
  
“Nanjiroh, please.” With a light slap on her husband’s arm, Rinko turned back to Ryoma. “Madoka is a nice name.”  
  
“The child is a boy, mother.” Of this Ryoma was most certain; considering how potent his magical intuition was, no one doubted his judgment. The prince gave the chuckling Yuushi a warning glare. He did not understand why fate was so insistent upon ruining his day.  
  
Yuushi cleared his throat. “How about Kohaku?”  
  
“Kohaku,” Ryoma echoed. “Amber. It has a nice ring. I shall think of it.”  
  
“Hiroshi, then,” Nanjiroh suggested. “Hiroshi.”  
  
Ignoring him, Ryoma continued, “I have thought of either Haruki or Haruto.” The child was to be born at the ending of spring and the beginning of summer, in between seasons, caught within the flow of change. Both names seemed fitting, Ryoma though absently, toying with his soup.  
  
“Do not play with your food, Ryoma,” Keigo admonished sharply, before suggesting, “I would think a proper name is Kazuki.”  
  
A pause.  
  
Yuushi suppressed a choked cough, under which laughter bubbled. Ryoma gave Keigo an incredulous stare. “Kazuki? _The shining one_?”  
  
After a hefty pause, Keigo raised an eyebrow. “What? It is a perfectly fine name for a prince!”  
  
“No, Keigo. I am not naming my child ‘ _the shining one_ ’!” Rinko broke into giggles at Ryoma’s indignation. His hackles were visibly raised, and the prince looked just about ready to pounce on top of and over the table at a guileless Keigo. “I certainly do not want the child to inherit _your_ arrogance! I will not let you give him a name that will give him ideas!”  
  
“Takahiro,” Nanjiroh interrupted. He was ignored.  
  
“Kazuhiko, then,” Keigo put forth.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Hideaki.”  
  
“ _Shining excellence_?” exclaimed Ryoma. He relinquished his fork upon his plate for fear of committing bloody murder with it. “What is it with you and _shiny_ names?!” Yuushi gave a bark of laugher. “No! I shall name him Haruki or Haruto. Either one will do.”  
  
“They are too bland names for a prince, Ryoma, especially a prince of this caliber!” Keigo looked fit to burst at the seams in indignation, face an unnatural shade of puce.  
  
“They are perfectly _sane, non-shiny_ names.”  
  
“As the future godchild of my magnificent self, he deserves a name worthy of his brilliance! Byakuya!”  
  
“I will not have my child be _blinded_ by his own name!”  
  
“Hiroki?” Nanjiroh inputted. He was ignored.  
  
“Then we shall name the child Akihiko,” Keigo countered, leveling Ryoma with a glare.  
  
Ryoma hissed in annoyance, returning the glare. “ _Shining prince_? No. I will not blow my child’s ego to unimaginable proportions by giving him such a name! Haruki.”  
  
“Akihiko.”  
  
“Haruki!”  
  
“Akihiko!” Keigo insisted. “Be reasonable! Give the child a royal name!”  
  
“Royal names, Keigo, do not need to have within its meaning a direct connotation to royalty!”  
  
Frothing in anger and burning in determination to outdo each other, Keigo and Ryoma lapsed into a competition of glares.   
  
“Ah, I know!” Nanjiroh exclaimed, calling the table’s attention. With a wide grin, he proclaimed, “Goro!”  
  
Yuushi roared with laughter as Ryoma threw a fork at his father. Rinko hid her face behind her hand in exasperation as Ryoma screamed obscenities and violently proclaimed hell on earth should Nanjiroh try and name the child with such ridiculously outlandish names. “I am not naming my child after a _monkey_!” he all but roared for the entire castle to hear.

 

~

 

“Ryoma? Are you alright?”  
  
The worry in Keigo’s voice was palpable. Ryoma had insisted—no, _demanded_ a little outdoor picnic with Tezuka’s friends in a small clearing between the West Quarter and the revived Monasteries. Having been cooped up for far too long inside the castle, Ryoma’s irritability was with reason. He had always been an outdoor person. Spring was nearly over, and with summer quick approaching, the call of the outdoors would be practically irresistible.  
  
However, there was one fact that did not change no matter how much Ryoma loathed his confinement: the young prince was _very_ , very pregnant. Much too pregnant to be doing long walks through the woods. The swelling of his belly had increased exponentially — Keigo was starting to doubt if it was just a child and not _children_ Ryoma carried. Rinko insisted otherwise, but Keigo was adamant about his doubt.   
  
Hence, in order to ensure Ryoma’s safety through the duration, Keigo tagged along, vacating his entire afternoon for Ryoma’s little escapade. This decision, of course, was mightily detested by an indignant Ryoma. The prince very nearly screamed the entire castle down; Keigo’s firm resolve was admirable for having stood against the rage. He had anticipated the anger and the annoyance — it was a typical Ryoma response. However, he failed to understand where the intense agitation was coming from.  
  
“For earth’s sake, Keigo — that’s the hundredth time! I am _fine_ ,” Ryoma waspishly snapped. “I am not fragile as china. I am _pregnant_. Not disabled!”  
  
“I am simply making sure.”   
  
Keigo frowned in disapproval as Ryoma’s tension heightened. It was unlike Ryoma to still be so agitated — he should have started relaxing half an hour ago, when they first entered the woods. His request for a picnic was granted, he was having fun with Tezuka’s friends… and yet there was this lingering sense of unrest around the prince.  
  
“Maybe you should lie down and rest for a while,” Keigo suggested, handing Ryoma a glass of water.  
  
“Keigo — ”  
  
“I agree with His Majesty, Your Highness,” Oishi said, calling attention. “You seem… tense. Perhaps it would be good if you took a break. I can summon a breeze, if you’d like.”  
  
“No, it’s fine.” Ryoma’s eyes were tight. “I just feel a little odd today, but I will be alright.”  
  
“Ryoma, ‘a little odd’ is not alright,” Keigo insisted.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Eiji cut short his argument with Momoshiro. “Ne, what’s wrong? Is ochibi-chan alright?”  
  
“Eiji-senpai!” Momoshiro squawked, still not used to the redhead’s familiarity to Ryoma. Despite his indignation, however, there was still an obvious hint of worry on the knight’s face.  
  
“Maybe it’s a cold? Gakuto has a cold! Maybe ochibi-chan caught it too!” Eiji suggested.   
  
“No, I’m — ”  
  
“Fssssh, that’s not good.”  
  
“Get him a blanket, then,” Oishi said, and Momoshiro promptly procured one. “I will make some hot tea — ”  
  
“No, honestly, I’m fine — ”  
  
“Perhaps he ate something bad for him?” Taka suggested. “I made sure the sandwiches were fresh, though…”  
  
“No, I still think it’s a cold, nya!”  
  
“Fssssh, definitely not good.”  
  
Inui, the silent sentinel, adjusted his glasses and procured a glass from thin air. “Your Highness, perhaps you would like to try my Extra-Strength Revitalizing Inui Juice. It contains special ingredients that help the body recover the energy that is lost fighting against sickness.”  
  
“Oh, is that the new blend?” Fuji quipped. “It’s good, Inui. Better than the last one.”  
  
“Is it really.” Ryoma, curious, took the glass from Inui and lifted it to his lips. “Perhaps I will tr — ”  
  
“NO!” Eiji snatched the glass away from Ryoma’s hands, while Oishi blanched and made sure Ryoma had yet to take even just a single sip of the juice.  
  
“Inui-senpai, are you trying to murder Prince Ryoma and his unborn child?” Momoshiro’s voice was unnaturally shrill and strained.  
  
“Fsssh, he’s pregnant, you know!”  
  
“Listen, ochibi-chan.” Eiji knelt in front of Ryoma and peered into his golden eyes, having already disposed of said substance. “You do not taste or drink or eat anything — _anything_ — that comes from Inui if you do not wish for an early death!”  
  
“B-But Fuji said it was good!” Ryoma pointed out, dubious. Keigo was flat-out confused, this being his first gathering with Tezuka’s friends. The eccentricities and speed of conversation was something Ryoma was already used to, but Keigo was still prone to losing himself.   
  
“Fuji’s taste is _demented_ , nya!” Eiji screeched, nearing hysteria. “Do you know he eats raw red peppers? He can eat a bagful of them! And he slathers _wasabi_ on his fish — _pure wasabi_.”  
  
Ryoma cringed.  
  
“Oh, but wasabi is good!” Fuji pointed out. “Especially the ones they make in the far east. The port city of Yuill produced by far the best wasabi I have ever tasted — which would make sense, since the fish they harvest is top class.”  
  
Eyes narrowing, Ryoma pinned Fuji with a questioning stare. He was answered with silence and a smile. Yuill was a port city to the far eastern coast of the Empire. Why and how Fuji went so far into enemy’s territory was just another one of the mysteries now added to the long and growing list.  
  
“Demented, I tell you,” Eiji adamantly insisted, earning a nod of agreement from Momoshiro. “No one can consume that much red pepper and wasabi and not spontaneously combust.” Then the redhead turned accusing eyes on Fuji. “Why are you so calm in the first place? Ochibi-chan is sick! We need to take care of him, nya! You aren’t even worried!”  
  
“Oh, Ryoma-kun is not ill, don’t you worry.”  
  
A pause.  
  
“There’s that smile again,” Eiji grumbled. “Why do you always know something we don’t? What do you mean ochibi-chan is not ill? Are you absolutely sure ochibi-chan is not ill? _Absolutely_?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“Absolutely?” Keigo repeated.  
  
“Absolutely, Your Majesty. I guarantee it.”  
  
“How do you know this for sure? Do you have any proof that Ryoma is not ill?” Keigo insisted. “How do we know we need not take him to Aunt Rinko immediately? He is tense and agitated—his coloring is quite pale.”  
  
“I told you I’m fine!” Ryoma heatedly retorted as he accepted Oishi’s tea. “Why do you never believe me?”  
  
“Because you tend to lie, Ryoma.” Ignoring the huffy young prince, Keigo turned his attention back to Fuji. “Well? What proof do you have of Ryoma’s wellness?”  
  
“Proof?” Fuji echoed.  
  
The teacup Ryoma held in his hands toppled and steaming tea spilled on the blue blanket spread over the grass.   
  
“There’s your proof.”  
  
Ryoma’s hands flew to his swollen belly, eyes screwed shut and face contorted as a wave of pain swept through his body. He uttered a hoarse, strangled cry. Alarmed, Keigo shot from his seat and drew the prince into his arms, as if to physically shield from the pain.  
  
“I thought you said he was not ill!” Eiji screeched in panic, arms flailing about. “He’s dying!”  
  
Momoshiro quailed at the thought. “No!! We need to get him to Her Highness Princess Rinko! She will know what to do!”  
  
“But we can’t simply lift him, fssssh!”  
  
Eiji grabbed Fuji’s shoulders and shook him, violently. “ _I—thought—you—said—he—was—not—ill_!” he all but screamed, emphasizing each word with ample shaking.  
  
“He isn’t. This is not an illness,” Fuji replied with a calm smile. “Birthing is a natural process.”  
  
The entire clearing froze.  
  
Silence.  
  
“ _BIRTHING?!_ ”

 

~

 

“I was stained, by a role, in a day not my own  
But as you walked into my life, you showed what needed to be shown  
And I always knew what was right  
I just didn’t know that I might  
Peel away and choose to see with such a different sight…”  
— _Twilight_ , Vanessa Carlton

 

~

 

_I still do not quite understand how this world works, love. Perhaps I have stayed within my darkness for far too long. There are things that escape me, things that do not make sense, try hard as I might to comprehend them. Relationships have never been my forte, and I think they never will. Fuji has made me realize this truth — I do not know if I should be thankful.  
  
Fuji, ah, ever the mystery.  
  
He is an interesting person, love. Perhaps he hides far too many things for everyone’s relative safety, but he is interesting nonetheless. The way he seems to always be two steps ahead of everyone else has a certain charm to it, and it attracts people to him. He knows things, love, and the things he know I am afraid to ask. He knows of the Empire, and he knows of the traitor. But I cannot ask him. I do not know why.  
  
He does things as well, things that even I cannot do. He can see into people’s hearts; see into them and help shed light upon a darkened path. He has shed light on mine, love. I am indebted. He taught me that no person ever really fully belong to his or herself. He told me, “If you cannot live for yourself, then live for those who love you.”  
  
…I think I now understand why you hold him a dear friend. He is a good person, and he has helped once, twice… and today, thrice.  
  
Today, love, is a precious day. Seven months we have waited. Seven full months. Our child, love, he has been born! A healthy child, blessed with strong magic and a promising future.  
  
A new life.   
  
We have made a new life, love! I cannot believe my eyes. Even as I hold him beside me tonight, I doubt. For all I know, this might be a dream! This warm little bundle of joy and love came from me, from us — is it not remarkable?  
  
Summer is nigh, and spring is ending. The season changes, and with it does fate. The magic calls to the child. It rejoices, for a new life is born, and dawn has come once more.  
  
Akira.  
  
— E. Ryoma (14th of the sixth moon, 46th of Selene)_

 

~

 

The skies were dark, the wind carried a chill. Grey clouds rolled overhead, claps of thunder and flashes of lightning in the distance a hearkening of the storm to come. Around him red roses fluttered under the whip of the wind, all in eager awaiting of the blessing of rain.  
  
“I was under the impression that you were only there to spy.”  
  
Emerging from the generous shadows cast by the setting sun a man uttered a chuckle. “Not even a single greeting. You always bring me such good tidings.”  
  
Turning, Yukimura met face to face with a reflection of himself. “Welcome home, Niou. I hope your wounds did not do you much trouble on the way back. I have heard of my cousin’s strength; it is no wonder even you were unable to escape unscathed.”  
  
A smooth rush of magic, and the other Yukimura’s face shifted rather grotesquely, reforming into Niou’s original visage. The trickster shrugged delicately. “I was bored.”  
  
“Boredom is not enough of a reason for you to trample all over our plans.” Yukimura uttered a sigh, turning back to his roses. A tapered finger traced the velvet surface of the smallest rose in the bush. The wind whipped past, throwing Yukimura’s hair against his face. “I did not want you to kill the very person the Empire wants within its grasp.”  
  
Niou gave a noncommittal grunt.  
  
“…how was the magic, Niou?”  
  
A grin crossed Niou’s face. “Simply decadent. Even more than the prophecy says.”  
  
“I see.” Yukimura’s eyes reflected a mild interest, though they remained fixed upon the little red rose.  
  
“Do we change our plans?”  
  
The dark-haired mage tilted his head and gazed up at the darkening sky. A single droplet of rain fell, landing upon his cheek, slithering down across pale skin, the shadow of a teardrop he would not shed.  
  
“No, Niou. We do not.”  
  
  
  
  
Thousands of leagues away, across the border and into the neighboring Kingdom, a baby’s first cries echoed into the deepening stormy night.


End file.
